


His Majesty’s Dog

by ohmyfae



Series: Imperative [8]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Anal Sex, Boot Kissing, Collars, Degradation, Dimitri and Dedue are together but then Dedue and Felix also fuck, Dirty Talk, I should note that it is Felix who is degraded, M/M, Muzzles, Polyamory, sort of pet play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmyfae/pseuds/ohmyfae
Summary: Felix runs his mouth one too many times. Dedue muzzles him.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Dedue Molinaro
Series: Imperative [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654516
Comments: 13
Kudos: 118





	His Majesty’s Dog

**Author's Note:**

> This is a d/s-au, meaning that everyone is born either a sub or a dom. Please be advised if you have any triggers about consent that while nothing is intended to be non-con or dub-con, this is predicated on the idea that it's biological imperative kink.

It’s been years since Dedue has permitted himself to lose his temper.

The last time, Dedue was only fourteen, and the ash of his burning village was ground into his boots, in his eyes, turning the water of the stream grey as Dedue crouched on the bank. He raised the water to his lips, tasted soot, and the world went hot and suddenly Dimitri was on his knees before him, holding his face, whispering, _I know. I know. I’ll make it right, Dedue, I’ll kill all of them for you, I swear, every last one of them who started this._

It was the first time Dedue had kissed anyone, either, with Dimitri’s knees all muddy in the creek, his hands in Dedue’s hair. His first kiss should have been something gentle, perhaps with the boy down the street with his braided hair and coy smile, but his house had been one of the first to burn, and Dedue had only Dimitri, Dimitri and his anger, his promise of vengeance.

Now, Dedue does not lose his temper. He knows what people will think if he does, so he simply bears it, and marks their faces in his mind, one by one by one. It isn’t easier, but he has control, which is one thing these Fodlaners seem to be sorely lacking.

Felix, in particular. Dedue finds him in the training yards at an ungodly hour of the evening, hissing at Dimitri like a wild cat, and he wonders for a fleeting moment if he should simply sling Felix over his shoulder and toss him in a fountain to cool off. He’s from Faerghus—He can handle the cold, surely. It would be a favor.

“Do you deny it, boar?” Felix asks. His grip on his sword hilt is too loose, and where Dedue keeps his rage in a tight fist, Felix’s fury spikes and flares like the sun, lashing out at nothing and everything. Dimitri sighs.

“I do not,” he says. He sounds... tired. He’s been tired for some time, Dedue knows—The dark shadow in his eye lingers even as his ghosts retreat from his waking hours, and the end to the war does not mean an end to what it has made of them. “Thank you for your concern, Felix. I will not… revert… to what I was simply because I broke a training post in a fit of enthusiasm.”

“You shattered it,” Felix says. He does a poor job of hiding his fear. He always has. Dedue can see it in the way he clenches his jaw, the tightness at the corner of his eyes. “Rein in that savagery or stay out.”

“Felix,” Dedue says. “That’s enough.”

Felix rounds on Dedue. “Of course,” he snarls. He’s like a wolf before the bow, unsure whether to lunge or cower, coiled power too tightly wound. “Where the boar goes, his handler follows.”

“ _Felix._ ” Dimitri’s voice is sharp.

“You’ll apologize to your king,” Dedue says.

Felix lifts his chin. There it is, that noble manner Dedue knows all too well, the outrage he’s seen too often on the battlefield; _You dare give orders to me? Do you not see the blood magic that curdles in my veins?_ Dedue snaps his fingers—Felix hates that, he can tell—and points to the floor.

“Apologize,” Dedue says, lacing every word with the command he only ever uses in battle, the dominance that has turned entire squads at a moment’s notice. “To your king.”

“Dedue,” Dimitri says. “It isn’t necess—“

Felix’s nostrils flare. His amber eyes are wide, and he tosses his head, clenches his fist on his sword hilt—and bows, jerkily, like a marionette.

“Say the words,” Dedue says.

“I. Won’t apologize for how I speak,” Felix says. He’s still bowing, long hair falling in his face. “It’s the truth.”

“It isn’t,” Dedue says.

Felix’s jaw works, and he straightens, his cheeks flushed, eyes overbright.

“Your majesty,” he says, and turns on his heel, disappearing from the training yards and down the dark halls with a click of his boots.

Dimitri lets out a heavy sigh. “That went well,” he says, and offers Dedue one of his rare smiles. “But I doubt even you can bring Felix to heel.”

“I have no intention of doing so,” Dedue says. He crosses the training room floor to take Dimitri by the chin. Alone, they can have this, Dedue with his thumb brushing Dimitri’s cheek, Dimitri closing his eye to the weight of his gaze. “You need to sleep. See to it, tonight. No one wants to see their king fall off his horse.”

“Tie me to the saddle,” Dimitri says, and Dedue smiles. “But I won’t say no to it, if you’re—here. To see it done.”

Dedue kisses him, slow and soft. “Very well.”

Dimitri runs a bath in his private quarters—Dedue recalls, as the pipes rattle and steam fills the air, pulling down a tin tub out of the loft back home—and bares his scarred body with none of the reservation he used to have, when every scar was a mark of the dead. Now, they’re just shadows on his skin, nothing more, and he joins Dedue in the scented water to kiss him against the side of the bath. Dedue holds him by the back of the neck, the way he likes it, and Dimitri moans, bares his throat, peers at him through slitted eyes.

Slowly, carefully, Dedue bends Dimitri backwards. Dimitri grabs the edge of the bath with both hands, and when Dedue lifts Dimitri’s hips, his fingers tighten. 

“Don’t hold back,” Dimitri says. “Please.”

Dedue smiles and bends Dimitri almost in half to kiss him properly, and Dimitri’s breath is ragged, his gaze soft and unfocused, as steam billows around them.

Dedue holds back.

***

They’re fucking again. One would think that stone would muffle sound, but the stone of Fhirdiad castle must be hollow, because there’s nowhere in Felix’s ducal chambers that is free of the sounds Dimitri and Dedue are making, the thump of a bed against the wall, the groan of mattress springs. Felix would scream if he weren’t sure they would hear him.

Instead, he lies there, naked in his bed of furs and quilted blankets, listening to the sound of his king cry Dedue’s name like its a revelation. Like it means something.

He only ever says Felix’s name like it’s a burden.

Felix tries not to listen to Dedue’s muffled murmurs of praise through the wall. Dedue, with his hard eyes and command in his voice, who would have put Felix on his knees if Felix hadn’t fled for his rooms in time. Felix hasn’t dropped to his knees for anyone, not once, and he certainly won’t for the man who stood by and let Dimitri be consumed by vengeance.

 _Not as though you could stop him, either,_ a traitorous voice whispers in the back of his mind. 

“Like that,” Dedue says, through the wall. “Take yourself in hand for me.”

Felix chokes down a curse between his teeth and wraps his hand around his cock, which has gone neglected since the moment Dedue’s voice rolled over him, since he bowed on command like a trained mutt. Dimitri moans, and Felix closes his eyes, bucks into his fist as he strokes himself, thighs tensing already, feet sliding on the furs.

He thinks of Dedue snapping his fingers. Ordering him to bow. The natural instinct in Felix’s body flaring, begging him to comply, to fall to his knees and bare his throat.

He wonders, as his toes curl and his breath comes short, what kneeling for Dedue would feel like.

Dimitri howls, and Felix gasps as he spills over his hand, following Dimitri over the edge. He lies there a moment, breathing hard, lips parted, trying not to think of the shadow of Dedue looming above him.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, and gets up to fetch a basin and pretend none of this ever happened.

***

Felix is becoming a problem.

It isn’t that he’s combative, which he is, or perpetually scowling and muttering when anyone so much as breathes in his direction, but that he’s constantly underfoot. He’s watching Dedue in the mess hall, glowering at him in the training yards, slamming books shut in the library. By the time Dedue retreats to the greenhouse and finds him _snarling at the goddamn flowers,_ Dedue is on the last straining threads of his patience.

“If you’re going to be here,” he says, when Felix glances up and away, as though he can’t stand to look at him, “then pick up a spade and do something useful.”

“I _am_ useful,” Felix says. Dedue examines a Duscuran Gold for aphids, gently turning the yellow leaves to the light.

“No,” he says. Felix bristles out of the corner of his eye. “The war is done. Weapons must be put aside.”

“Which includes you,” Felix says, as Dedue gently guides a vine up a trellis. “You said it yourself; You’re just a mindless weapon, meant to be wielded. But I don’t see you rusting in an armory.”

“I was young when I said that,” Dedue says. “I’ve grown, since.”

There’s a short, harsh silence, like the pause before a swing, and Dedue turns to find Felix practically shaking behind him, lips pressed in a hard line.

“Sometimes,” Felix says, “a weapon is all you are.”

Dedue sets down his shovel. “If you’re trying to goad me into a fight, you…” He catches the hitch in Felix’s breath, the way his eyes glitter. “Ah. There are people you can go to, for that. Who will,” he gestures vaguely. “Call you names. Treat you poorly.”

“That isn’t what I—“

“I am not here to remind you that you are a person,” Dedue says, turning aside. He doesn’t hide the scorn in his voice. There’s no need, not with Felix.

“Are you—That isn’t. I’m not looking for that.” Well. That’s half a lie, if the way Felix’s voice tightens at the end is any indication. “You may be Dimitri’s loyal d—“

“As though you are not.”

Felix takes a sharp breath. Dedue turns on him, steps close, backs Felix up into the warm glass of the greenhouse. 

“His majesty gave you a chance to leave him,” Dedue says. “He did not hold you here by the collar, force you to serve. You could have stayed home during the war, rallied troops elsewhere, but you chose to remain on his council. A wolf flees when the snows draw close. A dog comes to the hearth.”

Felix clenches his fists. “And a boar—“

Dedue takes him by the chin, and Felix sucks in a harsh breath through his teeth. There, there it is, what he’s looking for, in the tense line of his shoulders, the way he watches Dedue, the flush to his cheeks.

Felix tilts his chin. An invitation. A challenge.

Dedue lets go of Felix, takes a measured step back, and strikes him across the face with an open palm.

Felix drops to his knees.

Dedue stares down at him, this Fodlan duke on his knees in a quiet, warm greenhouse, eyes wild, lips parted with arousal, and slaps him again. Felix’s breath comes out in a moan, this time, and Dedue feels a rush he hasn’t allowed himself to indulge since Duscur fell, a hardness to his dominance that he cannot admit to. He wants to put Felix on his back, wipe his boots on his fine clothes, grind his face in the dirt. He wants to drag his fingers through Felix’s impossible hair and make him crawl on the polished flagstones. He wants so much, so many things he cannot have.

”Look at me,” Dedue says. His control is slipping—He can hear the harshness in his voice, the edge to his dominance that he rarely uses, even in battle. Felix lifts his gaze. “You are his, aren’t you? Even now you wait for scraps at his table.” 

Dedue pushes a foot between Felix’s legs, parting his thighs, and Felix’s breath goes short. He closes his eyes.

“Answer me, dog,” Dedue says, and yes, there, Felix’s hips shift against his boot, and his eyes go glassy and unfocused.

“I. Yes,” Felix says. Dedue grabs a fistful of his hair—It’s silky, sliding through his fingers like water, but Felix makes a sound when he tugs at it that runs through Dedue like a bolt from the blue.

“He would have you,” Dedue says. Felix makes a sound, soft and broken. “If you asked. He loves you still. But I do not think you deserve him, as you are.”

Felix glares at him for that, and Dedue smacks him again, hard enough to drag out a proper moan. 

“If I were responsible for one like you, I would muzzle you.” Felix’s skin is red and pink in patches, now, and he’s rocking his hips against Dedue’s boot, rutting like an animal. “Have you crawl to him. Grunt and squeal like the beast you call by name in the dark hours, alone.”

Felix tries to hang his head, but Dedue holds him up by the hair, stares into his desperate eyes. “Will you come on my boot, dog?” he asks, colder and crueler than he’s ever been, the fire of Duscur in his voice. He slaps Felix, shoves two fingers down his throat, hooks them in his mouth. “Come, beast, you cur, you swine, hiding behind the sword as though we don’t all see what you are.”

Felix comes with a cry that’s muffled by Dedue’s fingers, wordless and wretched, and Dedue steps back, brutally pushes his boot under Felix’s thigh until Felix is toppling over onto the greenhouse floor. He lies there, panting and red-faced and under, and when Dedue does scrape the sole of his boot over Felix’s nice black leggings, Felix gives him a look that’s all hunger. No fury. No artifice. Just need, naked and simple, a match to Dedue’s own.

Dedue spits on him, and Felix just stares, a pretty Fodlan dog broken to heel.

***

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Dimitri says. 

They’re lying in bed together, as always, with a fire burning in the hearth and the skylight revealing a patch of scattered stars. Dimitri smells of honeysuckle, luxuriating in the aftermath of Dedue’s gentle touch and a bar of scented lotion, and he trails a soft palm over Dedue’s chest while he holds up a book in his other hand. He seems utterly unbothered by the fact that Dedue just thoroughly degraded one of his nobles, and he flips a page with a thumb as though this were a perfectly ordinary bedside confession.

“I could have caused a political incident,” Dedue says. 

“Not with Felix.” Dimitri closes his book. “Dedue, I grew up with him. We all know he has… particular tastes. I’m surprised you didn’t catch on sooner.” 

“There wasn’t much time to spare on trivialities,” Dedue says, and Dimitri smiles sidelong. They both remember the first night Dedue returned, when Dimitri pulled him into the sorry mess of his bed and put his mouth on him. “And he…doesn’t say what he means.”

“Yes, I should really make a list of common translations,” Dimitri says. “It sounds like he enjoyed it. Did you?”

“...Yes.”

Dimitri rolls onto Dedue, running his hands up his abdomen, thumbing at his nipples. Dedue pushes at his cheek, and Dimitri smiles, turning his face as though he were struck. It’s strange, how soft he can be, this man who slaughtered so coldly, who fell to his knees before the demands of the dead. Dedue draws him down for a kiss, and Dimitri trails his lips lower, down his chest.

“You’re always holding a piece of yourself in reserve,” Dimitri says, running his hands over Dedue’s hips. “I would like to see you satisfied.”

“I _am_ satisfied,” Dedue says, but then Dimitri is kissing the tip of his cock, and Dedue brings his hands to Dimitri’s hair, and the time for words slips past them and into a pleasant, familiar haze.

***

The next day, Dedue buys a muzzle at the leatherworker's shop in the upper city, as well as a sturdy length of chain. It sits in his satchel during council, when Felix Fraldarius turns his golden eyes towards Dedue and curls his fingers so tightly around his quill that it snaps. Dedue catches himself touching the wire of the cage, running his fingers along the lengths of the chain, and when Felix calls Dimitri a beast over something as simple as a bridge in a backwater village, he looks up the moment Dedue clears his throat.

“Your Grace,” Dedue says, and the others of the council startle, slightly, at the force of the command in his voice. “You forget yourself.”

Felix blinks. There’s a moment of silence, then he turns to Dimitri.

“Your majesty,” he says, as though it’s being wrenched out of him.

“Please,” Dimitri says, for the millionth time in his noble life. “It’s Dimitri.”

No one listens. They never do. But Felix does refrain from calling him _boar_ for the next hour, and when Dedue leaves the council room, Felix is waiting for him, rocking on his heels. There’s that hunger in his eyes again, a mulish set to his mouth, and Felix steps into Dedue’s shadow and squares his shoulders.

“You do not,” he says, in a voice that is all unbridled want, stripped clean of bravado, “have to remind me what I am.”

Dedue looks down at him, his eyes blown black, hands drifting behind his back like a good submissive, and smiles. “I think I do. Come to my quarters and perhaps I will tell you.”

He steps back. They are still in public, still in the wide halls of the Fhirdiad palace, so all Dedue does is point to his feet and mouth the word, _heel._

Felix’s face burns like a signal flare, but he must be more desperate than he’s letting on, because he falls into step behind Dedue, hands clenched tight at the small of his back. With every step they take down the winding hall to Dedue and Dimitri’s rooms, Dedue remembers the hissed insults, the way Dimitri just took them, nodding softly, _Yes, I’m a beast, yes, I’m a boar, no, I can be nothing more than this,_ until the time came and he embraced it, made it a part of him. He remembers the horror in Felix’s face at Gronder, how he refused to look at Rodrigue’s funeral pyre, the training dummies hacked to bits of straw and wood. How he had to wrap his fingers, after, for the blisters. Dedue tastes soot on his tongue, swallows, turns to stop Felix just outside the door with a hand on his shirt.

“What,” Felix says, and his shoulders fall from their tense line as Dedue kisses him, as gentle and deep as he would Dimitri, one hand cupped over Felix’s cheek. When he pulls back, Felix is staring at him, brows furrowed, hands hanging free at his sides.

“Just so you know,” Dedue says, and Felix’s hard eyes soften, just a little. Just enough.

Then Dedue grabs Felix by the collar, kicks open the door, and throws Felix through it.

“The fuck is wrong with you,” Felix says, but there’s no bite to it, and Dedue catches him trying to suppress a knifelike grin. 

“Who dressed you like this,” Dedue says. He lets his control down, just a little, imbues his voice with his natural dominance. “You do not put a feral cur in human clothes and call it a man. Take those off.”

Felix is already panting for it, even as he gets to his knees. “Make me,” he says.

Dedue slaps him, hard enough for the sound to echo in the wide room, and Felix’s gaze goes distant. “I said take them off, you uncultured dog.”

“Uncultured,” Felix says, even as his fingers fumble for his shirt lacings.

Dedue places a boot on Felix’s shoulder. “Yes,” he says. “You can stand on two legs as long as you like, but I’ve seen you.” Felix’s eyes widen. Ah, so this must be familiar. “You want to be his majesty’s dog, but you’re just a cur. A mutt, claiming a fine pedigree.”

He removes his boot from Felix’s neck to pull out the muzzle and chain, with the fine black collar to latch them together, and Felix’s hands slip on the button of his trousers. Well.

“I see. You can’t even follow simple orders,” Dedue says. “Useless.”

Felix snarls something under his breath and disrobes gracelessly, revealing his lean, muscular body and a painfully hard cock. It’s a decent size, longer than Dimitri’s but not quite as wide in girth, but Dedue gives it a disgusted look and drops the muzzle and chain on the bed. He sits down, watching Felix burn under his scrutiny, and snaps his fingers twice. Felix scowls.

“Let me see you crawl,” he says, and Felix kneels there a moment, all noble outrage and indignation, before his desires win out, and he drops to his hands and knees. Dedue’s cock twitches as Felix crawls to him, ungainly and awkward as only he can be, and Dedue stops him with a boot on his bare shoulder. He pushes him down, more strength in his right leg than Felix has in his entire body, until Felix’s lips hover an inch above Dedue’s left boot.

“Thank me for lowering myself to mount you, dog,” Dedue says, and Felix’s harsh breath is impossibly loud. Felix pauses, still torn, before he lowers himself to Dedue’s boot and kisses the leather. Then, without Dedue asking it of him, he sits up, turns his head to kiss the side of Dedue’s other boot. They glance at each other, fleeting and sharp, and the gratitude there makes Dedue curl his fingers on the bedding.

He bends down to fit the muzzle over Felix’s mouth. It’s a wire mesh cage framed by leather, and Felix’s dark hair falls around it, wild and silk soft. He bares his teeth, and Dedue laughs, which startles Felix into a stunned silence.

“I don’t think I ever heard—“

“Don’t talk,” Dedue says. “Not unless you want to leave.”

Felix takes a shaky breath as Dedue clips on the chain, and breathes hard against the collar. Dedue tugs at the chain, and Felix makes a sound that goes right to his cock, low and wanton. 

“I won’t sully the bed by letting you rut on it,” Dedue says. “Move.” He pushes at Felix with a boot, nudging him out of the way so he can get up, and drags him across the room by the chain. Felix crawls after him, stumbling against the collar, panting into the muzzle, and Dedue holds him still and slaps his backside, making him grunt and hiss for breath.

“What’s that, beast?” Dedue asks. The cruelty slides out easy as a knife in the breast, laced with dominance, and Felix hangs his head. Dedue slaps him again, and Felix rocks forward on his hands and knees. 

He won't last long, like this, and judging by the heavy, harsh panting and the flushed state of his cock, Felix is right on the edge. Dedue fetches the oil and dribbles it over the cleft of Felix’s ass, smiles as he bucks into Dedue’s hand, whining. 

“Open your mouth,” Dedue says, and slaps his flank with his free hand. “Creatures like you don’t have the civility to hold your tongues.”

“Fuck,” Felix whispers, and Dedue pulls on the chain to tilt his head back, admiring the way Felix is opening his mouth for him, his clever, cruel tongue lolling against the muzzle. He gives him enough slack to hang his head again, and Felix’s nails scratch on the rug.

“Let me hear it when I mount you,” Dedue says, holding the chain taut. He pushes inside, careful despite Felix’s attempts to rock back into him, pressing into his tight heat. “You boar. Whining like a stuck pig on my fingers, only good for me when you’re chained and muzzled—“

Felix moans, and saliva hangs from the muzzle, spotting the floor. Dedue slams into him, holds him upright by the collar and drinks in the sounds Felix makes—wordless, open-mouthed groans and jagged, broken _ahhs._ Felix rocks against him, so Dedue goes harder, harder than he ever has with Dimitri, who is not an easy man to break, wringing a _howl_ out of Felix as Dedue grabs him by the base of his cock, holding back his release.

All it takes is a few strokes for Felix to come, and then Dedue is fucking into his limp, pliant body, pushing him to his elbows on the rug. When he comes, Felix has his cheek pressed to the floor, mouth still open, and Dedue clumsily strokes his hair, kisses the back of his neck.

“Fuck,” Felix breathes, as Dedue pulls out, letting him slump on his side. He’s still breathing hard, and he swallows as Dedue gently unhooks the muzzle. “Didn’t think I would. Uh. I think I…” 

“Learned a few things,” Dedue says. “I see that.” Felix is as under as a submissive can be, drifting in that peaceful in-between place while Dedue unbuckles the collar and rubs his fingers over Felix’s jaw. “We have wine in an icebox by the baths, if you’d like. Once you’re yourself enough to have some.”

“Of course you do,” Felix says. Dedue strokes his hair, and Felix’s brows lower. “You’re fussing over me.”

“A grave miscalculation on my part,” Dedue says. “I’m sure.” He helps Felix to his knees and kisses him, even if he doesn’t have to, and Felix kisses him back, open-mouthed and graceless as his attempt at debate. It’s almost endearing, in a hopeless sort of way, and Dedue tries not to think about that too much as he guides Felix to the baths.

Which is where Dimitri finds them, later, sipping chilled wine and decidedly _not_ talking about the way Felix’s hand is resting on Dedue’s thigh, or the look in Felix’s eyes when Dimitri leans against the doorway, holding the muzzle in two fingers.

“Well,” Dimitri says. “I see you two… worked some things out.”

Felix takes the wine bottle from Dedue and presses it to his lips. “In a way,” Dedue says.

Dimitri swings the muzzle from his fingers, watching them in comfortable silence, before Felix sets down the wine and shifts closer to Dedue.

“For fuck’s sake, Dimitri,” he says. “Leave off with the sad puppy eyes and have some wine.”

Dimitri’s face lights up as though Felix has dropped on one knee in a bed of roses, Felix flushes pink and sinks into the bath, and Dedue, surrounded by Fodlan nobles who need a war just to learn how to say what they feel, holds a hand over his eyes and grins.


End file.
